


Shattered Glass

by PurpleArrowzandLeather



Category: Smallville
Genre: Despair, Gen, Hurt, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-03-30 02:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19032580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleArrowzandLeather/pseuds/PurpleArrowzandLeather
Summary: Taking place in the beginning of season 9, Oliver attempts to take his own life and Clark is the only one who knows. Whether his attempts to help will be accepted is up to Oliver.





	Shattered Glass

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing.  
> I know this isn't my usual media, but I thought it was important. Talking to people who have thought about it or having friends who have gone through with it is hard, and that kind of thing should never be taken lightly.  
> So here's to my classmate, and I hope it's at least decent.

“ _I knew that the blast wouldn’t kill you.”_  

 

          Clark is watching him. Oliver knows that. He has been since he found out that Oliver tried to kill himself. Oliver stares at the pressure plate before him, his gaze unwavering. The truth had been staring him right in the face, and for that single moment, he thought that maybe he deserved it. Maybe he still does.  

          “Oliver.” Clark says carefully.  

          Oliver looks up, his eyes shining and his expression almost desperate. “Clark.”  

          He’s ashamed by the way his voice breaks on that single word. He didn’t think that he could hate himself anymore than he already did, but now he’s finding out that he was wrong. Maybe there’s something wrong with him that makes it so everything in his life ends in tragedy.  _Is it me?_  

          Oliver wanders over to Clark slowly when the farm boy turned journalist gestures to him. He makes a stop at the bar and pours himself a glass of whiskey, leaning on the balcony when he reaches Clark. Clark says something about missing warning signs, and not knowing that it was this bad.  

          The unsteady billionaire tries not to let that make him feel more miserable.  

          In the middle of their conversation, Clark has to go. Oliver turns his head to watch him, wondering if Clark will leave him, too. Everyone else has either left, killed someone he loved or died, so why not Clark? Clark doesn’t want to go, but Oliver tells him to anyway. Maybe he just wants to see if someone might finally come back.  

          After spotting Lex in his own reflection, Oliver feels lost again. The truth was pointed at him on that podium. He’s a murderer.

          “Oliver?” The door to the balcony pushes open and Clark looks to the shattered glass on the floor. He looks up at Oliver, noting the way he quickly wipes his face. “Are you okay?” 

          Oliver huffs. “Wow. What was that, Mach 5? Didn’t waste any time talking to the cops, huh? You were gone for about thirty whole seconds.” 

          “Twenty-six.” Clark smirks, but it falls. “Not that I was counting.” 

          A sigh leaves the blond as he watches Clark stoop to clean up the glass. “I’m not some broken record that you can fix with a little duct tape, you know? You don’t have to stay and take care of me.” 

          “Sure, I do. Come on, Oliver. I’ll take you home.” 

          “You mean to the loft? The place I haven’t been to in over a month?” 

          “It’s still your home, Oliver.” 

          Oliver tries for a chuckle. “Sure, just lemme get a drink for the road.” 

          “Don’t force me to carry you out of here, Oliver. It won’t look good for either of us. I don’t want to have to cart my friend out of here, and you shouldn’t be driving anyway.” 

          Lowering his once-proud head and letting his shoulders sink a little, Oliver skulks out to Clark’s truck like a scolded three-year-old. It’s fairly dark in the vehicle aside from the street lamps and store fronts glowing every so often and Oliver leans against the window. He doesn’t sleep. He hasn’t for quite a while. Being tired all the time and not being able to sleep is a bit of a catch-22, he supposes. It’s not like it matters. If his organs all shut down, then at least he won’t have to worry about being miserable anymore.  

          Scowling, he chastises himself. _Coward._

          He’s quietly grateful to Clark for his silence. For the first time in a while, Clark has no judgement to spew on him. He doesn’t say anything about wanting to trust him not to off himself. He’s just... reflective, which is great really, since the more Clark silently reflects, the more Oliver gets to despise himself in peace. 

          Clark pulls to a stop, and for a split second, Oliver wonders why. He lifts his head, an inquisitive noise slipping out of him without his consent. Clark smiles at him a little bit, but the effort is half-hearted. Just because Oliver is slightly inebriated doesn’t mean he can’t tell.  

          Clark comes around the car for him, easing him out of the passenger seat. Thankfully, he just handles him as if he were uneasy rather than fragile. _Am I fragile? Do I care if he treats me like I am?_

          The elevator is his friend, but he is curious to see what the stairs have to offer. Clark will hear no such argument. Oliver manages to call him a buzzkill, but not much else. Clark gestures for him to go first into the apartment and Oliver does so, moving directly for the bar. Clark is probably astonished by his lack of care for security. He used to do door and window checks when he hadn’t been around for a bit. Now, he just doesn’t care. Maybe if someone broke in, they could put him out of his misery.  

          Clark does the checks for him and squashes that plan.  

          Oliver chuckles. “Look at you, boy scout. Always watching out for everyone.” 

          “When they need it.” 

          Making a face, Oliver huffs. “Yeah, sure. Those you deem worthy, anyway. I mean, look at me. You’re practically an enabler. You may have taken me home, but you’re still letting me drink.” 

          “And how will you feel if I make you stop?” 

          Oliver lets out a breath of exasperation, laughing lightly. “Make me? You mean like every other time where we were forced to do things your way? Just like with Doomsday?” 

          Clark tilts his head, squinting a bit. “Is that what this is about?” 

          Oliver makes a sound that Clark doesn’t understand until he realizes that it was the broken end of a sob that was cut off too soon. “I listened to you. We all did, and do you know who paid the price? Jimmy. He was the only one of us who was innocent.” 

          “So, you’re saying this is my fault?” 

          Oliver downs his glass, pouring another as he swipes a thumb under his eyes. “I don’t even blame you. I understand why you want to see the best in humanity, but there is a  _cost_ to believing that everyone is good.” 

          Clark pauses, noting the way Oliver nearly trips coming down to the main floor. He wanders to his balcony doors, opening them up. Clark nears just to make sure he doesn’t fall over the edge. He may not mean to now, but he’s unsteady on his feet.  

          Oliver leans on the railing, taking a drink from his glass and swirling what’s left around in circles. “You know what, Clark? Why don’t you stop me from drinking, huh? Why don’t you blast the glass with your heat vision?” 

          He turns, taking a look at Clark and poking him with suggestions. Clark doesn’t respond to any of them, simply letting Oliver vent his frustrations. The billionaire takes a step back once he decides he’s finished, but it’s a step too far. He wobbles on his feet, nearly sending himself over the railing. Clark grabs onto his suit coat and hauls him inside. He closes the doors, letting Oliver slink back to the bar. 

          “Nice catch, Kent. That’d have been a nasty spill, huh?” 

          “You don’t seem too worried.” 

          Oliver mumbles his response, but Clark hears every word.  _“Hard to worry when you hate yourself so much you can’t even look at yourself in the mirror.”_  

          Clark thinks he finally sees what this is all about. “Oliver?” 

          “Hmm.” 

          “There’s a cost to believing there isn’t good in humanity, too.” 

          Oliver laughs, the sound sour. “I listened to you, in the hopes that you were right, and where did it get us?  _I_ listened to you. I stand by you, and every time I make a mistake, you throw me away!” He puts his glass down with a sharp clack. “’He’s not one of us’. That’s what you said. Yeah, I killed Lex Luthor, but I did it to protect you! You trust him every time, and you lose every time and yet it's still my most terrible act to have taken out the one thing that could hurt us the most.” 

          “It’s not our right to decide who lives and dies.” 

          More tears start to fall down Oliver’s face, but he makes no effort this time to stop them. “Don’t take your moral high ground with me. After everything, I still trust you because you are just so _good_ , but I’m not! I am a murderer, and I thought I could accept that, but it stares me in the face every day. I’ve been to eight countries this week alone, Clark. Eight.” 

          Clark rushes to steady him as he nearly topples on the step again, supporting him over to the stand where a dusty newspaper is sitting. “And?” 

          “This picture is everywhere. You see this, right here?” He points to the word ‘murder’ on the page where it’s printed in large black letters above a picture of Lex. “In each of those countries, this paper was there, and the truth followed me around! How am I supposed to be something people can put their faith in when I can’t remember what life is for? I wanted Lex to die, and now he has and I can’t live with myself, Clark!” 

          Oliver tosses the paper on the floor, pacing away and running a hand through his hair. His skin in slick with sweat, and he stalks back and forth like a caged tiger. It doesn’t slip Clark’s notice that he’s trying to stop himself from crying with careful breaths. It doesn’t pass him by when the billionaire pales. He walks Oliver to the bathroom, knowing that in his state, super-speed will only give him motion sickness too.  

          Clark gets him settled on his knees, trying not to cringe as Oliver heaves up his stomach contents.  

          Oliver pants, tugging at his collar and attempting to shrugs off his suit coat. “M’ hot. Burnin’ up.” 

          Clark helps him get free of his shirt, reaching up for a washcloth while Oliver throws up again. The archer groans, scooting back and resting against the sink base. The marble feels nice against his skin, but he’s still sticky.  

          “Guess my body hates me almost as much as I do, huh?” 

          Clark wets the washcloth, crouching down and handing it to Oliver. Oliver takes it from his hands, his head bowed low even as he glances up at Clark. The farm boy turned journalist doesn’t need him to say anything to know that he’s grateful. Oliver places the cloth on his shoulder, sighing a little at the cold. He doesn’t have a chance to enjoy it as his stomach twists again. When he’s finished, he settles. Clark watches over him as he shakes for the longest time, offering him a towel to dry his skin.  

          Oliver takes a half-hearted swipe at his chest with it before just staring at it in his lap. “ _What am I, Clark?”_

         “You’re a good man, trying to find his way.” 

          A sharp inhale from Oliver is all it takes for Clark to know he’s still taking a ride on the emotional roller coaster. “I wish I could believe that.” he murmurs, closing his eyes and looking away to hide his face. His jaw clenches as tears start to fall again and he shakes his head in an attempt to deny them. 

          Oliver is quiet as Clark walks away from him. He doesn’t know if he’ll come back. It would be fair of Clark to just leave him there on the floor. After all, he did ignore Clark when he warned him against killing Lex. He ignored Chloe too. 

          “Oliver?” Clark settles down next to Oliver when he doesn’t get a response, placing a glass of water into his hand. “Here.” 

          “Tryin’ to sober me up now that I’m too sick to move?” 

          Clark huffs good-naturedly. “I’m trying to make sure that you don’t have to nurse a killer headache with your hangover tomorrow. I may not get drunk, but I’ve lived with Lois for a while now and she doesn’t always feel the need to hydrate.” 

          Oliver turns the glass in his hands. “Why hydrate when I'm just gonna get drunk again tomorrow?” 

          With a sigh, Clark gets to his feet and tugs Oliver a small distance from the sink. Oliver doesn’t question it, only letting Clark have his way. The farm boy takes the towel from his hand and picks up the washcloth from the floor. 

          “You take your time drinking that while I get you cleaned up, all right?” 

          “Sure, sure.” 

          Oliver stays still for Clark even though he’s getting tired. Since he was raised by Moira and his time as an archer, he doesn’t slouch even after a while. He stares at the glass, contemplating just a little.  

          “Why’re you doin’ this for me, Clark?” 

          “You’re my friend, Oliver. And before you go for the throat for me saying as much, you're the one who always likes to say we're like a family.” 

          Oliver hisses as Clark cleans over a recent bruise, closing his eyes and taking a drink of the water. He hates himself for thinking it, but he misses the burn in his throat. Still, Clark will probably man-handle him if he doesn’t drink it all. “Friends don’t watch friends go on a drinking bender.” 

          “No. We help you pick up the pieces.” 

          “You can’t change what I think of myself, Clark.” Oliver grumbles. 

          Clark gets up, wetting down the washcloth again before starting on Oliver’s sweat-soaked hair. “I know, but I also know that it’s good for people to be reminded that they have someone watching out for them.” 

          “Clark Kent to save the day.” Oliver mutters. 

          “Be as cynical and sarcastic as you want. It doesn’t change where I’ll be if you need me.” 

          “Shoving water down my throat?” 

          Clark nudges Oliver just a bit and the drunk billionaire manages a small real laugh. “Standing by you, just like you always do for me.” His declaring pushes Oliver back into his wondering silence before he decides to say anything else. “I know that I can be hard on you, Oliver. It takes a lot for me to admit I’m wrong and that not everything has a simple solution. I want there to be. I mean, look at me. I’m an alien with all these abilities that no one else could ever dream of. Shouldn’t there be easy answers?” 

          “Was there a point to this?” 

          “I just... I can be quick to judge, and a lot of the time, you’re the one that pays the price. Maybe I value human life to much, but that’s why I was sent here, Oliver. That’s why I’m here now.” 

          Wiping his face, Oliver takes another drink of water. “Yeah, well, maybe not everyone thinks their life is worth it.” 

          “You may not, but I do. You’re my friend, maybe even the closest I've got to a human brother, and I should have been here for you from the beginning.” 

          “Doesn’t change what I am.” 

          Clark covers his shoulders with a blanket and runs a warm towel over his head to dry his hair. “For that, we can all be grateful. Whether you see it or not, the man under all the pain is still a hero.” 

          Oliver finishes the glass of water and Clark takes it from his shaky hands. He helps the archer to his feet, steering him to his bed. 

          “Can’t sleep.” Oliver mumbles. 

          “Maybe not, but I’ll be right here if you need me.” 

          Oliver settles, curling up just a bit and staring at the wall. He manages a light doze, but that’s as far as it gets. Every time he comes around, he checks for Clark, finding him still asleep on his couch. Oliver isn’t sure what he expects to change, since Clark is likely the most stubborn person on earth. Loathe as he would be to admit it now, it does feel a little good to have a friend close by. Tess tried, but she’s betrayed him one too many times for him to trust her. She said she understood, but she doesn't. Not really.

          It takes a long time for him to stop waking up, but it does happen. When morning comes, he’s actually surprised to find Clark cooking him pancakes with Lois next to him at the island. It’s a welcome sight, but suddenly Oliver finds himself worried that Clark told her what he did. 

          Lois and Clark come over to him, Clark with pancakes and Lois with a Bloody Mary, dill pickles and a pretzel. Oliver silently inquires what she knows with a look at Clark and he subtly shakes his head. Oliver allows himself to smile after the exchange, Lois's friendly banter a welcome change of pace.  

          Clark is determined to help Oliver back to the light. Oliver isn’t convinced. Maybe it's a good thing that he can't admit it with Lois nearby. The way Clark is taking every measure of care with him, Oliver would assume he knows anyway. It's a little odd for Oliver to be hovered over in his own home, but he supposes that it's what family is for, even if he doesn't think he deserves it. Leave it to Clark to tell him that he does.

          Maybe one day, as doubtful as he is, he'll believe it.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how many people will read this, but it was worth it to me. Feel free to let me know what you thought.


End file.
